His teeth flashed white in the sunshine. A warm hand grasped hers as they ran out of the water together.
Barefoot, Cara climbed the steps to the beach house, the heat of Ethan’s palms at her waist sending shivers of excitement through her. In mere moments they were inside his large bedroom. The door closed, and he backed her up against it, then claimed her lips again.
Now, at last, with no water to shield him, she gazed at his chest, his washboard stomach, the board shorts that hung low on his hips. And let her fingers follow the path her eyes had. His skin was hot beneath her fingers.
“You’re killing me,” Ethan moaned, kissing across her cheekbones, and then claiming her mouth again.
Blood roared in Cara’s ears as his tongue tangled with hers. He must have unfastened her bikini again, for his hands cupped her naked breasts.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her clavicle, then claimed one tip with his warm mouth.
The tug of his lips sparked an answering ache in her core. Cara gasped, and reached a hand into the waistband of his board shorts. With a muttered oath, Ethan moved, and stripped them off.
Her hand curled around his length, as he undid the ties at the side of her bikini bottoms, and pushed them to the polished wooden floor.
Desperation pounded through her as fast as her heartbeat. To have him, all of him, inside her. He cupped her, and her leg lifted to bring her closer, thigh sliding against thigh.
“We need a condom. Hang on.” Ethan lifted her against his body, and her legs wrapped around his hips. His hands gripped her bottom, keeping her in place as he strode to the bed and laid her carefully upon it. He pulled open a drawer on the bedside table, withdrew a small foil packet and quickly sheathed himself. Then ran his hands over her stomach and over her hipbones. “You’re so white—so perfect.”
You’re perfect too. The thought tumbled through Cara’s mind, but remained unspoken as his head lowered to the juncture of her thighs.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of anything but Ethan, and what he was doing to her. How had she thought she’d made love before? The feelings welling up inside her were so powerful, so abandoned, she couldn’t help but raise her hips and clamp her eyes tight shut as her hands tangled in his hair.
“Ethan.” The word escaped as a throaty moan.
Ethan’s hand moved to replace his mouth, and he quickly kissed his way up her body to her mouth. “I’m here,” he murmured, as his length nudged against her.
She wanted him, needed him inside. Her eyes opened, staring into his. She held her breath as, deliciously slowly, he entered her.
His face changed, and his lashes fluttered closed as their bodies started to move, first slowly as she adjusted to his length, then faster and faster.
Cara’s heart pounded. She couldn’t seem to get enough air, and heard her own breathing accelerate, reaching, ever reaching for the crescendo. She couldn’t hold back the sounds tumbling from her mouth, couldn’t hold back…
In a fevered wave, they crested the wave together, and plunged, in freefall, over the other side.
****
In passion’s aftermath, Ethan curled around Cara, one palm flat against her hip, while the other curled around her torso, holding her close.
She’d been so passionate, so desperate for him, that her excitement had fed his own, and brought him to the most powerful climax of his entire life. And when the sex was over, the lovemaking continued.
They’d tumbled together, unable to stop touching. Her hands on his face, her soft, swollen mouth, her tiny smile as she gazed into his eyes, all tied him closer with silken threads. Made him want to be in her arms forever.
He breathed in the ocean scent of her hair. Kissed her ear. “I need a shower,” he whispered. “Wash the salt off.”
“Mmm, sounds good.” She shifted in his arms, as his hand cupped one bare breast. “I’ll join you.”
The huge shower had been built for two, with multiple jets that soaked the occupants from different directions. Ethan stood under the water and reached for the shampoo.
She angled her head under a jet, soaking her hair, and he poured shampoo into his palm, angled her close and gently soaped her hair. Her chin tilted up. Her eyes were closed, and he paid careful attention to make sure none of the lather went into her eyes.
With her eyes closed she couldn’t judge him. Couldn’t see that his feelings must be written all over his face in the sappiest expression known to man. His fingers massaged behind her ears, fingers sliding in the slippery foam. She meant so much to him, was so precious. His thumb swept across her temples, pushing the soapy hair back. He was obsessing over the beauty of her cheekbones, admiring her freckles, and thinking she was the most beautiful girl in the world.
Ethan shook water drops off his hair, and eased away. “You can rinse now.”
He poured shampoo into his own palm and rubbed it roughly over his head. He’d agreed to a casual fling. Had told himself making love with Cara wouldn’t change anything between them. But somewhere, somehow, everything had changed.
Chapter Eleven
They were dancing, naked. On a white sandy beach by moonlight.
The firm press of a mouth against her lips. Cara’s eyes cracked open.
Ethan stood by the side of the bed, fully dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a black shirt. “I have to go to work. The car’s here,” he murmured.
Cara’s eyes flicked to the alarm clock on the bedside table. Five o’clock. Five a.m.? Where had the night gone? She started to sit up, but Ethan’s hand on her shoulder eased her back to the pillow. “Stay where you are. It’s early, and you need your sleep.” He smiled. “We didn’t get much last night, and you must be jetlagged.”
Cara’s face heated. Once they’d climbed back into bed, she couldn’t resist wrapping around him again, with predictable results. Another couple of times during the night their bodies had found each other in the darkness. After all that, she should feel sated. Instead, she felt like pulling him right back into bed with her again. It was going to be a tiring few weeks.
“I won’t be back until late. We’re doing an evening shoot tonight.” He stepped away from the bed, and gestured to a set of keys on the bedside table. “You can take it easy, or go shopping. Take the Aston.” He grinned. “But don’t wreck it.”
“Would I?” Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember.
“You should be okay as long as you don’t try to squeeze into any tight parking spaces.”
He remembered. She’d never live down the fact that her early forays into driving had included a memorable event where she’d tried to park in the supermarket car-park, and scraped the side of one car on the way in, and another, on the way out.
“I’ll be careful.”
“Call if you need anything. There’s food in the fridge. I won’t be back until after midnight.” He hovered by the doorway, as if reluctant to leave.
“Okay.” She wanted to hug him goodbye, but didn’t have the bravery to climb out of bed naked in front of him—not now, in the cold light of day. She pulled the duvet up to her ears. “I might not get out of bed all day.”
Ethan’s mouth twitched. “I know you—you’ll be on the beach straight after breakfast.” He glanced at the bedside clock. “Better go.” But still he stayed, watching her with a strange expression in his eyes.
“Take care,” Cara said.
Ethan’s lips pursed. “You too.” Then he turned and moments later, the front door slam signaled that he’d gone.
Silence buzzed in her ears. She reached for Ethan’s pillow, wrapped her arms around it, and breathed in his familiar scent. Oh dear. She was in danger of falling for her best friend. She propped the pillow on top of her own, and gazed out of the floor-length expanse of glass to the day beyond.
Pale pink swept across the sky, blushing deeper pink at the horizon. Below, the ocean glittered dark blue, like a jewel in the night. Waking up here each morning would be heaven. She watched and waited
for the transformation of the sky from night to dawn.
She sighed as the golden orb crested the horizon, and inch by inch crept into the sky. In a month, this would all be a memory. But for now, she recorded every minute of the captivating scene, as though her eyes were cine-cameras, filming her memories for posterity.
Five-thirty. Way too early to get up, with all day and a solitary night stretching before her. But her mind was racing, and the appeal of bed had vanished the moment she woke to find Ethan out of it.
She wandered into the huge bathroom, and eyed the whirlpool tub. Maybe it was a Jacuzzi? It was an improvement on her old iron tub at home, that was for sure. A small bottle of liquid was on the shelf. The fancy French label defied translation, but she twisted it open and had a sniff. Definitely manly, with top-notes of pine, and mid-notes of sandalwood.
Cara turned the faucets, sploshed in a generous amount of the emerald liquid, and went downstairs to make herself a cup of coffee to drink while luxuriating.
Five minutes later, cup in hand, she wandered back into the bathroom.
Acres of stiff white micro-bubbles foamed over the Jacuzzi’s lip, like overwhipped egg white.
Cara gasped, and put her coffee on the sink back, cursing as it tipped on the uneven surface and splashed into the sink.
The bubbles had crested the rim, and were sliding to the tiled floor.
She stood there, unsure of exactly which mess to clean up first, legs frozen for a microsecond. Then darted to the Jacuzzi, switched off the faucets, and pressed the lever to release the plug. With shaking arms, she bent and scooped as much of the foam as she could from the floor. She eyed the tub. And puffed out a relieved breath as the level fell, and the foam sank an inch or two.
That disaster under control, she grabbed a couple of fluffy bathsheets from the heated towel-rack, and dropped them atop the mess on the floor.
A drip of coffee, which had splashed over the rim of the sink and slowly slid down the outside of the basin, fell dead centre on a pristine white bathsheet, staining it dark brown.
The day, which had previously stretched out with nothing to fill it, was filling fast. Declogging the Jacuzzi, washing and drying the towels—hopefully Ethan’d have some stain remover…
Her cell phone rang in the other room.
Cara rubbed her arms down Ethan’s robe, smearing it with foam. Then gave up, and pulled off the entire thing and chucked it in the corner, before dashing to the door. She had to get there before it stopped ringing…
It stopped.
And she was standing by the full-length window, in the nude.
Cara snatched her clothes from the floor and dragged them on. Ethan had promised the beach was private, and that no one would be able to sneak a photograph of them, but you couldn’t be too careful.
She scrolled through her phone calls to see whose call she’d missed. Private. Hmm. The phone vibrated, and then rang again. Cara answered it.
“Cara?” The voice was unfamiliar, with an American accent. Who could be calling her? Maybe it was Ethan’s assistant, Maggie.
“Yes,” Cara said. “Who’s this?”
A hesitation. Then the caller spoke. “Cara, you may not have seen it yet, but I wanted to know if you have any comment on the story on the cover of today’s National Inquisitor? Let me read you the headline, Ethan Quinn stole my girl. It continues, heartbroken Michael Maguire…”
Cara’s legs wobbled. She eased down onto the bed, clutching the cell to her ear. “Who is this?”
“This is the National Inquisitor, ma’am.” The female voice continued, “Do you have a comment?”
Cara bit her tongue. She had plenty. The lying weasel, the rotten swine…She pulled in a deep breath. “I haven’t seen the story, so at this point I have no comment,” she replied, glad her voice was calm and even. A thought struck her. “How did you get this number?”
“Mr. Maguire gave us this number, ma’am.”
A blood red haze clouded Cara’s vision. “Goodbye,” she forced out through gritted teeth.
She terminated the call, threw the cell on the bed, and gave in to the overwhelming need to let loose all the pent up curses she’d been carefully holding back.
****
Ethan’s feet were covered in bloody cuts.
He walked into the makeup trailer, sat, and propped them up on the stool before the makeup artist. “Isn’t there a quick way to get them off?”
Doris smiled as continuity photographed his feet with a Polaroid in case of reshoots. “You know better than that, Ethan.”
It had taken two hours to painstakingly create his wounds, and would take half that to remove them. A long rip on his jeans’ thigh revealed a large knife slash, built up with silicone carefully molded and filled with scar and fresh fake blood.
“Want something to read?” Doris waved at the newspapers on the desk. “I’ve got most of them.”
“I bet you haven’t got the Inquisitor,” said Maggie from the doorway of the trailer. She clutched a tabloid in her hands.
“No, I don’t think I have.” Doris picked up her palette knife and starting to peel off the scars on Ethan’s feet. “I don’t like that one, it’s a rag.”
“I never miss it.” Maggie’s mouth tightened. “Although I wish I had this morning.”
“Are you going to tell me why?” Ethan asked, forcing patience into his voice. There was obviously some problem Maggie thought he needed to know; he wished she’d just get on with it. “Because I could really do with a coffee.”
Maggie slumped down on a chair. “I’ll get you one in a minute. I need to show you this first.” She flattened the tabloid on her knee, and smoothed out the cover with the flat of her palm. “I’m warning you, you’re not going to like it.”
Ethan reached for the paper. Underneath the libelous headline, a photograph of Michael Maguire stared out with what anyone who had eyes could plainly tell was a faked-up devastated expression. “The creep,” he muttered. “What’s he getting out of this?”
“Problem, dear?” Doris asked.
“Payback?” Maggie suggested.
Ethan threw the tabloid to the floor. “Cara’s ex-boyfriend.” He glanced at the storyline, “Not ex-fiancé as they say here, cheated on her. She’s my friend. And she’s lost her job as a result of some ridiculous pictures taken last week.”
“Money then,” Maggie said helpfully. “I suppose someone paid him for his story.”
“Well, you know what they say you should do if the press tell lies about you, dear. Don’t you? I’ve had all of them here at my table, one time or another. With the most filthy lies and intrusions into their private lives. The only thing to do is to take the high ground. If you get into a war of words with the press, you’ll never win.” Doris piled a sliver of bloodied silicone onto the growing pile on the table. They looked like gutted anchovies.
“It makes you seem really irresistible, as though Cara couldn’t help herself,” Maggie muttered. “I guess that can’t be bad for your reputation.”
“For what, my reputation as a lady-killer who has so little respect for people that he seduces a bride-to-be?” Anger bit in Ethan’s stomach. “That’s not who I am, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it go.” He glanced at Maggie. “I need to talk to my publicist, and my lawyer. And…”
“I’ll get you some coffee first,” Maggie finished.
Ethan jerked his head in a curt nod. “And grab me a laptop.” While his body was occupied, he could at least check the web, see how bad it was.
The older lady wiped the fresh fake blood from the left side of his foot. “How’s your friend bearing up? This must be terrible for her.”
“She doesn’t deserve this. I brought her out to Malibu to shield her, but that doesn’t seem to have worked out, does it?”
“It must be worse in Ireland, if he’s saying these things.” Doris picked up the spatula again, and worked at a scar on the top of his foot. “At least she can talk to you about it.”
&n
bsp; She was alone in the beach house. Doubtless lying out on the sand, soaking up the sun’s rays and relaxing. The last thing she needed was to know about the poison being peddled with her name attached to it. There’d be plenty of time to shatter her good mood. And with any luck, he’d be able to get his publicist, Melissa Brown, out to brainstorm a response tomorrow morning. Filming wasn’t starting until the afternoon.
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His mind drifted back to earlier that morning. He’d untangled her long languid limbs from around him and regretfully climbed out of bed before dawn broke. When the car had arrived to take him on set, and she’d woken, he’d felt the tug to her again, the moment her unfocussed gaze collided with his. He hadn’t wanted to leave. And he always wanted to leave. No matter how good the night before had been, he was always keen to get back to work, to disengage himself from any lingering emotions.
With Cara, it was different. He wanted to spend the day with her. Wanted to show her around the area, and spend long hours over dinner in his favorite restaurant, listening to her laugh. Heck, he’d be happy to just rub sun-cream over that milk-white skin, and fetch her drinks all day.
Warm water splashed over his toes, bringing him back to reality with a jerk.
“That’s one.” Doris shifted her stool around, and started on his other foot.
Chapter Twelve
Whenever she was worried, Cara would pick up the phone to Ethan. But, for the first time ever, she couldn’t do that. He was working. Busy. So busy, it would be wrong to bother him. The fact that Michael had chosen to blacken Ethan’s name filled her with guilt. He didn’t deserve it. Had done nothing, apart from be a true friend when she’d needed one.
Telling him could wait. But clearing up the mess she’d made of his home couldn’t.
It took copious rinsing to banish the suds from the bathtub. By the time the towels were washed and in the drier, hunger was biting chunks out of her stomach, so she made a bacon sandwich and carried it over to the laptop on the polished wooden desk in the corner.
The Morning After Page 8